


What Does He Do That's so Special?

by yokomya



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:39:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m being a prick? That bastard comes in and just- he acts like he owns the goddamn store.”</p><p>“Don’t you mean he acts like he owns me? Isn't that what really bothers you?” Ian fired back and Mickey felt like a thorn got stuck in his side.</p><p>“I don’t know what-”</p><p>“Admit it,” Ian glared, “You’re jealous.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Does He Do That's so Special?

Mickey was dead on his feet at work, his bloodshot eyes almost falling out of his dizzy head whenever he had to bend over and haul what seemed to be a hundred pounds worth of food around the store. Stocking shelves wasn't too bad on most days, but today, when his skull was splitting open at every loud mouthed kid who wanted to steal candy or a bag of chips and he had to drop his box of shit to kick them out of the store, it was fucking bad. 

What really didn't help his mind shattering headache was Gallagher laughing his ass off with some motherfucker who frequented the store a lot these days, coming in to buy cigarettes and juicy fruit every goddamn day. Sometimes, Mickey would internally kick himself at how he watched the clock, not as much because he was ready to get the fuck out as it was to have a single day free from this fucker coming in, but he never failed to walk through that front door.

The guy had to be out of high school, he was older, not as ancient as Ian usually went for but he was still a pedophile as far as Mickey was concerned, and he wore that same fucking leather jacket with that same grease backed hairstyle, asshole material if Mickey ever saw it.

When the two were done chitchatting about whatever-the-fuck, Ian smiled at the guy as he left, giving him a friendly wave.

"Real subtle there," Mickey commented, coming up to the counter, eyes hard on a magazine in his hand.

"What?" Ian asked, calm, obviously playing ignorant. The corner of his lips were threatening to turn up so Mickey had to change the game.

"That T-Bird reject ain't shopping for Pringles and beer," Mickey glowered, not liking how humored Ian was getting.

"Right, he gets cigarettes and gum," Ian agreed, smiling as if he had no clue on this big planet of dust and water what Mickey meant.

"Should I call up Chris Hanson next time he shows up?" Mickey grunted. Ian laughed.

"Mick, I'm not fucking the guy, we just talk. He’s not so bad, sweet on the eyes too."

There was a latent  _I might fuck him eventually_ in that sentence and Mickey grew even more irritated.

"Yeah, well, it never amazes me how you don't steer clear of old and queer."

"When did you get so fucking poetic?" Ian laughed, shaking his head.

Mickey had half a mind to wipe that smugness from his face.

He shut the magazine and strolled to the front door, locked it, turned the store sign to indicate that now they were in fact closed, and walked towards the back, not even bothering to watch Ian come around the counter to follow.

When they got to the back closet, Ian shoved Mickey up into the wall, hands already working on unzipping his pants, eyes lustful. That's what the fuck Mickey needed, Ian's reassuring manhandling, a reminder that something in his life was stable.

Ian already had his jeans down and a firm grip around Mickey's cock, long fingers pushing up and down slowly. Mickey couldn't help but gasp, his brain already firing off too many electrical currents, the way it always did when him and Ian fooled around. It was never like this with any other fucks, they were all quick reliefs, never very stimulating. He told himself that's because Ian was good at this, wasn't scared to be rough on Mickey, knew how to skip the stupid shit for the most part.

Although, at the present, Ian's sensual pumping over him was too much, too slow and it was going into a bound that wasn't their usual straight to the point fucking, straying from what this arrangement called for.

"Hurry the fuck up," Mickey growled and the passion that was in Ian's face seemed to dissolve a little as he looked back at Mickey. It was quickly replaced with determination and he jerked Mickey with short, hard tugs that sort of hurt but felt amazing at the same time.

Mickey groaned out as Ian unzipped himself and pressed closer, retrieving lube from his back pocket so he could smear it onto himself.

This was the one thing Mickey had to himself, the one thing nobody could take, his fucking around with Ian. He sure as hell wasn't going to let it get ruined by whatever fucking sappy thoughts went through Ian's head whenever they were like this because Mickey caught it on Ian’s face sometimes, how he wanted more than what they were doing.

Ian would watch Mickey, through hooded eyes, always like he was about to kiss him or do something else to completely fuck up this good system they had going, but at least he seemed to know this would end if he did try to do that shit. Ian didn't look at him like that right now, he got down to business and prepped Mickey behind with the lube after himself, pushing his fingers in, not fast enough to hurt Mickey, but enough to make him grit his teeth. Mickey kept his hands plastered to the wall and turned around because he sure as hell didn't want to watch or touch Ian during any of this.

Then he felt Ian inside of him and his eyes squeezed shut from the sheer pleasure tingling up through his spine. Ian pushed further and thrusted into Mickey, picking up the pace, and Mickey felt himself digging his nails into the wall as Ian went harder, increasing the friction. Ian was groaning now and Mickey was panting as both of them neared their climax, Ian holding onto Mickey's hips as if letting go wasn't an option while Mickey had to claw the wall just to keep from falling over. It didn't take long for them both to feel that familiar sensation of floating on air hit as they came, and both let out exasperated sounds when it happened.

Mickey never made those kinds of sounds with anyone else touching him but that had to be because his other fucks were in semi public alleys, where voicing that you were fucking to the world wasn't exactly an option. Ian pulled out and tossed the condom, zipping his jeans back up while Mickey pulled up his own.

Mickey could have turned around but he figured Ian would give him either arrogance or even worse, neediness for something more than the fuck. So, he stalked off back into the storefront and flipped the sign, unlocked the door, and got back to work.

 

The guy who wanted Ian's dick was leaning dangerously over the counter, talking to Ian in a low voice and Mickey knew all about this fucking plan. He was the sweet talking deal, the type of guy who had no problem saying girly shit to get what they want, the guys who acted like they wanted to meet ends on a personal level but that was the game. They would make you feel special, fuck you, and move on, that's all there was, and maybe Mickey was no fucking floozy romantic, but at least he had the decency not to pretend.

He couldn't catch the end of the conversation but the fucking guy had actually pecked Ian across the hand before he left, waving goodbye like it was a perfectly normal incident at the goddamn Kash and Grab.

Mickey glared at Ian from across the store, demanding an explanation and when Ian met his stare, after dreamily watching his fucking prince charming walk out, he shrugged.

"Not fucking, huh?" Mickey snapped.

"Nope," Ian promised gingerly, tapping his fingers over the counter. Mickey had never seen him look so dumbstruck, from something as stupid as a guy putting his chapped lips over his hand. Mickey's lips curled back. "You like him claiming you like that?" he asked, snatching a cake roll from the shelf and ripping it open, going to the counter to slam pocket change down.

“He invited me out to see a movie tonight," Ian dodged like that explained why he was letting a thirty year old man leave his mark on him in broad daylight.

"When's the fucking wedding?" Mickey jeered, seething. Ian took the change off the counter and threw it in the register, frowning.

"What? You wanna take me instead?"

"The fuck- Don't say that gay shit to me again."

"I'm just saying, you're acting pretty fucking weird about this."

"Maybe because I don't want to see two dudes do that shit where I work, thought about that, genius?"

"Whatever, Mickey," Ian brushed off, anger betraying him but it didn't take long for it to subside into the inevitable wistful expression, the disappointed one that made Mickey feel nauseous.

Mickey took his cake and walked off to nibble it in the back of the store, outside where he could smoke and ignore all the annoying shit he always felt when Ian got like that.

 

It was rainy outside, nice and quiet in the store, but the silence was driving Mickey mad today. Ian was on his phone, smiling every few seconds like a love struck teenage girl, and Mickey was about to blow a lid off his casket. He knew who the fuck Ian was texting because the fucker didn't come in the store today.

Mickey went to the front and sprawled a magazine out, peeking at Ian over the counter every few minutes and Ian wouldn’t tear his eyes from the phone. It was really ticking Mickey off.

"Your sugar daddy scared of water? He didn’t come by to stalk you," Mickey snapped and that got Ian's attention.

"He drives a motorcycle and going out in the rain on one of those is shitty. By the way, the guy isn’t rolling in cash or anything, Mick.”

"Really? Thought that was your thing," Mickey glowered. Ian just shrugged and typed away on his phone, the same luxury phone some old queen he was fucking months ago got him. That's what Mickey thought Ian liked, old, rich fairies who could show him a good scene with their gifts and lavish lifestyles because Ian was a poor South Side kid who never got those things. Something about Ian seeing this new guy without being in it for screwing or gold made absolute zero sense and pissed Mickey off.

Finally, losing his temper and patience, Mickey went around the counter, surprising Ian by pushing him up into it, hands going to his hips. Since Ian liked dramatic, Mickey wasted no time shoving his body forward, grinding against Ian through their jeans, not bothering with a warning. Ian looked more than taken back and his phone was left forgotten on the counter as he eagerly welcomed Mickey's advance.

He wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist and leaned down so he could breath heavily against his ear, rolling his hips into Mickey's in the same jagged rhythm. Mickey almost jerked away because they were practically embracing and fully clothed at that, until the familiar crawling up of arousal and desire overruled. When Ian slipped a hand into the back pocket of Mickey's jeans and gently grabbed his ass, pulling him forward, he drew a blank and his body reacted instinctively.

There was that confidence Ian sported when groping Mickey, like he was saying _you're mine_ by touching him senseless, and Mickey couldn’t seem to put any actual thought into the idea right now as they rubbed harder together, breathing growing shallow.

Something must have been wrong with Mickey because they were still fully clothed, fucking without fucking, too close and in each other's space, not how it was supposed to be when they did this, and yet he wasn’t stopping it. Ian spun Mickey around and grinded against him from behind, jerking Mckey's back to his chest and before there were any complaints, he shoved his hand into the front of Mickey's jeans and flicked his thumb over the tip of his cock, making Mickey's knees weaken.

It didn’t help that Ian’s breath was right on his ear, tickling it, and that was one of Mickey’s sensitive areas, not unnoticed by Ian no doubt. Mickey thought he would fall if he didn’t lean most of his weight back into the other’s chest as Ian stroked him up and down, hitting just the right spots with just the right amount of pressure. When Mickey accidentally let his guard down, let his head roll back into Ian’s shoulder, cheek pressing against Ian’s warm neck, that seemed to stir something in Ian. He picked up the pace but kept the heavy pressure, not jerking as quick as usual.

Normally, Mickey would protest because _this_  needed to be over fast so they could both go about their business, but the way Ian was touching now was bringing a new kind of heat and feeling, actually causing Mickey to clutch onto Ian’s arm out of the pleasure. Ian continued to touch Mickey and then took the opportunity to turn his head and let his lips brush across Mickey’s cheek. It was brief contact, sending a pleasant calmness through both of them, like a reminder that they meant more to each other than just fucking.

Unfortunately, it burst the bubble of whatever little fantasy they were living because two seconds after it happened, Mickey came to his senses and elbowed Ian in the ribs so he would flinch out of his pants. Then Mickey walked back around the counter and went out the back of the store to smoke for as long as he could until his shift was done.

 

When Mickey came in Saturday, the store was as solemn as a graveyard. Ian was manning the counter as usual, reading a comic book and he didn’t look up as Mickey walked by to grab a red bull from the fridge. After grabbing the energy drink, he came up and dropped a bunch of quarters on Ian’s comic book, forcing Ian to glare up at him.

For no reason other than out of unknown frustration, Mickey cracked his can open and sipped it for a long time, waiting for some kind of response from the other. Ian took the quarters and dropped them in the register before returning to his comic, not even sparing Mickey another glance so, without thinking, Mickey grabbed the comic.

“I’m reading that,” Ian said grimly.

“Daredevil? The fuck is this one about?” Mickey asked casually, handing it back. Ian put it down on the counter and read, ignoring Mickey’s presence the best he could.

The door jingled and in came Ian’s grease monkey, going straight to the counter as usual, like there wasn't any real reason to come here except to eye fuck Ian. Mickey didn’t move from his spot so the guy awkwardly stood not quite in front of the counter and Mickey didn’t miss the glare Ian was throwing him for it.

“Hey, Drew,” Ian greeted, perking up like a flower in spring.

“You already finish the other volumes? Wow, fast,” Drew replied, putting a hand on the counter by Mickey, peeping over to look at the comic.

“Yeah, I’ll get it back to you tonight,” Ian promised, showing him how little he had left to read.

Mickey was so furious that he physically couldn’t move from this spot, thinking that any second he might actually throw this guy to the floor for smiling so creepily.

“I’m taking that means we’re still on for tonight, then?” Drew grinned and Ian nodded so rapidly that Mickey felt his stomach churn in disgust. The leather jacket dick glanced at Mickey.

“This your friend?”

Ian thought about the question for a minute, looking at Mickey who still had said nothing.

“Yeah, this is Mickey,” Ian introduced, watching for how Mickey would react. Drew smiled and nodded his head, like he actually gave a shit about Ian’s friends, and then he asked for his usual pack of cigarettes, grabbing juicy fruit from the carton by his knee.

“What are you, forty-fucking-five years old?” Mickey growled when the guy tossed a ten on the counter.

“You’re twenty years off,” he answered, obviously not noticing or not caring about the hostility being thrown at him.

“Sixty five, huh? You got a hard on for teenage boys?” Mickey snapped. Drew pocketed the cigarettes, laughing.

“You got some bite with that bark?” he retorted, earning a smile from Ian.

Mickey stewed as the guy winked at Ian before heading out, leaving them alone. It was quiet while Mickey contemplated how he was going to slice this guy's tires next time and Ian must have noticed the steam coming from his ears because he smiled secretively.

“Mickey, you want to get a burger with me after work?” he asked suddenly. Mickey didn't even know what to take from that or what possessed him to say it.

“We’re not fucking boyfriend and girlfriend here, save it for that asshole you’re banging.”

“I already told you we haven’t banged,” Ian sighed, flipping a page of the comic.

“Then why the hell are you seeing him?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Ian started off, tone going sour, “Maybe because he likes me and talks to me like I’m an actual human being. Could also be the fact that he won’t strangle me if I accidentally let my emotions take over and kiss him on the fucking face, might be just that,” Ian ended bitterly.

Mickey turned his head and met Ian’s stare, regretting it immediately because Ian looked wounded, on the verge of either tearing up or throwing his fist across Mickey's jaw. 

“So, what? He doesn’t buy you stuff, he doesn’t touch you, what does he do that's so fucking special?”

“He touches me,” Ian countered, “Little things, like holding hands, kissing me goodnight, stuff like that.”

“How fucking romantic,” Mickey snarled and that set Ian off all over again.

“You know, just because it’s not your thing, you don’t have to be a complete prick.”

“I’m being a prick? That bastard comes in and just- he acts like he owns the goddamn store.”

“Don’t you mean he acts like he owns me? Isn't that what really bothers you?” Ian fired back and Mickey felt like a thorn got stuck in his side.

“I don’t know what-”

“Admit it,” Ian glared, “You’re jealous.”

Mickey reached out, grabbed a fistful of Ian’s shirt, and pulled him closer.

“Say that shit again.”

“You’re fucking jealous,” Ian repeated, not even a trace of fear on his face, “and you’re too much of a coward to do anything but whine about it. It goes against some stupid policy you made for yourself. I’m just hanging out with this guy and for reasons we both know, it pisses you off, see what I’m getting at?”

Mickey shoved Ian backwards and stalked out of the store, not caring that his shift wasn’t over.

 

It was almost midnight when Drew stopped his motorcycle in front of Ian’s house and let the engine simmer. Ian hopped off from the back seat, still riding the high from the ride.

“If you’re free next weekend, you can come crash at my place for a day or two,” Drew suggested, smiling.

“Alright, sounds good,” Ian replied.

There was a silence between them where they were both a little sheepish because this was the part where they said ‘night’ and kissed. That would have happened, the same as any other night, if it weren’t for the fact that Mickey was sitting on Ian’s porch, staring daggers at the two of them.

“Oh, oops, I don’t want your friend to beat me up,” Drew laughed when he spotted Mickey, following Ian’s gaze.

“He, uh, he might actually,” Ian considered, watching as Mickey looked three seconds from coming over to them.

“Night then,” Drew finished and he looked at Ian’s mouth but Ian couldn’t bring himself to kiss him now, not with Mickey watching like a rabid dog. So, Drew sped off after sensing the discomfort, and promised to call later on.

“Thanks for scaring my date off, dad,” Ian snorted, half angry and half amused as he came up to the door. "You sure Drew is the one stalking me?"

“He better be fucking scared,” Mickey answered gruffly, ignoring that last comment, “and I’m pretty sure you should be calling him your fucking dad.”

“He's twenty five," Ian exhaled, "You really going to keep this up? Scare every guy I like away just because you can’t handle your feelings?”

Mickey grabbed Ian’s arm and pulled him down, practically into his lap, crashing their lips together and Ian’s eyes widened when he fell into Mickey, freezing, mind trying to keep up with what happened until Mickey pulled back.

“You gonna see that asshole again?” Mickey shot, still angry, but Ian didn’t miss the undertone of being hurt. Ian searched Mickey's face and found something there, some glimmer in Mickey's eyes that the kiss they had didn't just happen because Mickey was jealous, okay, at least only partly because Mickey was jealous. Ian felt his breathing go uneven, the touch of Mickey's lips still lingering on his own.

“Why wouldn't I? It's not like there's someone else,” Ian breathed out.

"Fucked up philosophy there, Gallagher. You just dating this guy because there's nobody else? I feel sorry for him," Mickey said, a smirk forming.

"Well, actually, I just wanted to ride his motorcycle one time before I got back to that _someone else_ ," Ian offered, smiling softly, pressing his lips to Mickey’s another time, just to make sure it was real the first. He felt Mickey stiffen under him, shuddering as Ian kissed him more tenderly, hands resting lightly against his waist. When Ian pulled away, he was satisfied by the shades of pink threatening Mickey’s pale face.

Mickey looked torn, like it was hard for him not to shoot up, rip himself away from Ian, and run down the street. In the end he stayed, even if their faces were hovering so close to each other, and tried to ease away from this tension his own way. 

“Next time he comes in the store, I’m beating his ass,” Mickey threatened.

“Don’t ruin this for me, Mick, he invited me over and we were finally gonna bang,” Ian laughed.

“You really wanna fuck John Travolta or you wanna get on me?”

Ian stared at Mickey and it was probably toxic, probably fucked up on both their parts, but he couldn’t help but get lost in those blue eyes for centuries and feel more for Mickey than he would for anyone else, even if he tried not to.

His eyes flickered to the lights of the windows on his house and back to Mickey’s.

“Baseball field?” Ian suggested, eyebrows going up.

Mickey kissed him again, deepening it, and almost thought about fucking Ian on the stairs right here. If it weren’t for the fact they were two guys in the South Side, he might have considered. Damn, they should have kissed a long time ago, it was fucking fantastic, setting him on fire, arousal levels going to a new high.

They pulled away before they got caught and Ian impulsively grabbed Mickey’s hand to help him up, looking at Mickey carefully. Their hands stayed intertwined after standing and there was a passing moment between them, things they may never say, things they may say later, but both let go, hands disconnecting.

Mickey smirked and so did Ian and they ran down the street together, not able to get to the field and fuck fast enough. 

With Mickey, things like holding hands and kissing goodnight were going to take hard, microscopic steps overtime. Eventually though, when Mickey could muster the courage to get there, Ian would be waiting for him.


End file.
